


hands getting cold

by qiankgs



Series: thin mints [1]
Category: NCT
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Cheating, Eating Disorders, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Linear Narrative, Recreational Drug Use, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unusual Syntax
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-09-20 22:07:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qiankgs/pseuds/qiankgs
Summary: Control. All Mark wants iscontrol.





	1. gold medal ribbon

**Author's Note:**

> hi ! so i'm the writer of [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16958751) and figured i should make a side account to post my ed fics on. please _please_ do not read this if you have an ed and will be triggered by it. this is just a way to vent for me, please do not read this if it will endanger you or your recovery.
> 
> on another note, i do _not_ think any of the characters in this fics have eating disorders, are assholes, etc. this is a work of fiction, i know the boys are all angels. please do not harass me in the comments about ships or how i'm awful for giving them eds, i'm kind of fed up with it already.

Mark can’t breathe.

 

His lungs hurt, his heart hurts, his head hurts, everything  _ hurts _ . 

 

His classes had been awful. His grades were beginning to drop. Mark was  _ failing _ . Mark can’t fail, he can’t. He  _ won’t _ . He’s worked too hard, he can’t just give up. He knows he can’t, not after all his mom sacrificed to put him through college and raise him. But Mark hurts, he hurts because he feels like he isn’t good enough, he never feels good enough. 

 

Mark is replaceable.

 

Mark isn’t anything special. He never has been. An above average ability in math and science had pushed him into an engineering degree, boring, unremarkable engineering. Everyone around him was bursting with color and uniqueness. Taeyong and Ten are dance majors, Jaehyun is an art major, his paintings filling every room with light and life. Even Doyoung, the business major, was born with a voice like honey that all the students flock to listen to when the acapella choir performs. 

 

Mark is static.

 

Mark lives in black and white, suspended in time. He feels numb. He fades into the background when everyone else is around, even his boyfriend shines brighter than he does. He doesn’t resent Donghyuk, he never has. Their differences just helped make things work. Maybe that’s what attracted them to each other. Donghyuk always joked they were like the sun and moon, brilliant, bright and loud Hyuk with quiet and reserved Mark.

 

Mark had been feeling less like Donghyuk’s moon, and more like a star faded into the background. He felt himself melting into the woodwork whenever they went out, always letting Donghyuk take the lead in everything. He never felt  _ right _ , always a little too awkward, a little too quiet, a little too clingy, a little too  _ Mark _ . 

 

Donghyuk had moved to Paris for their sophomore year to study abroad. Mark had encouraged him. 

 

It isn’t like Mark wanted Donghyuk gone, he missed his boyfriend like hell, but if it could help Donghyuk get closer to his dream, who was Mark to stop him? No one. 

 

Mark is no one.

 

Mark can’t control anything, he can’t control his grades, his brain,  _ anything _ . 

 

Mark decides to control what he eats.

 

Mark knows where this can go, knows where anorexia took him back in high school. He remembers winning trophies, running clubs, being elected student council president. He remembers the nights spent crying alone, fainting in front of his entire friend group after he had fasted for almost a week before finals. He remembers being 95 pounds. 43 kilograms. 7 stone. 

 

Mark had been  _ thin _ .

 

He knows he doesn’t stand out physically, he’s memorized every curve and edge of his body after hours in front of the mirror. He knows where his baby fat rests, he knows where his bones protrude just a little too much, making him look gangly and fat at the same time.

 

_ Fat _ . 

 

Mark is fat. 

 

Mark loses ten pounds in three weeks. It isn’t hard, he tells Taeyong he ate at the campus cafe and stashes his cash in a box under the bed. He eats one small meal a day, and he’s never felt better. He feels light, he feels  _ good _ . He feels like he’s never had more energy in his life, like he’s a new person, a better person. A better  _ Mark _ . 

 

Mark is good. Until he isn’t. Taeyong treats him to a hotpot dinner at one of the few good Chinese places around campus, and so he won’t cause alarm, Mark eats just like he would usually. He can feel every calorie, every single bite slip down his throat like a slug trying to crawl its way back up. His stomach groans in protest. He jokes it’s just a growl. 

 

It’s on this night, Mark purges for the first time.

 

Mark never purged before university. He needed his voice to give speeches, his teeth to smile, his fingers to type essays. Mark had been too busy trying to keep up his facade to purge. Now Mark is background noise to campus life, a fading star in a brilliant galaxy. 

 

Taeyong went on a date with Ten.

 

Mark can feel the food in his stomach, he can feel his stomach heaving and his throat tightening. He can feel the calories, he can feel them turning into fat in his stomach, _ he can feel himself getting fatter _ . He feels nauseous, like the food is trying to come up by its own accord without his permission. He walks into the bathroom and splashes his face with water, willing the feeling to go away until he stops it.

 

A toothbrush.

 

It lies nondescript on Mark’s counter, and he  _ knows  _ he shouldn’t even think about it, but all he can think of is the girls in his eating disorder support group who said they would purge their food by shoving a toothbrush down their throats. He remembers horror stories of girls choking on their own vomit, passing out in their own puke, ruining their stomach linings for life. 

 

Mark doesn’t care.

 

Mark grabs the toothbrush with shaking hands and knees. He stares at the water. His reflection is disgusting, and the fat on his cheeks reminds him of why he’s doing this, of why he can’t eat, of why he needs to be thin.

 

Mark needs to be thin, needs to be recognizable. Needs to be the one to make students glare with envy at his figure. Mark needs to stand out.

 

He shoves the toothbrush down his throat. It doesn’t work. The rubber feels foreign on his tongue, and he can’t help but become frustrated at how nothing is coming up. The girls at the group had made it look so easy to purge, made it seem like all he needed to do was gag once and it’d all be over.

 

It isn’t that simple.

 

By his third try, Mark is shaking, tears in his eyes as he feels the bile  _ almost  _ come up. 

 

_ Don’t be a pussy, Mark. Just fucking do it. You want to be skinny, don’t you? Just fucking do it. Get it over with. Be a man.  _

 

Mark throws up.

 

He shakes over the toilet bowl as he vomits everything he had eaten up, the bile and food burning his throat and clogging his nose as he lurches over the bowl. The girls were right, he can’t breathe. He lies with his cheek pressed against the seat of the toilet for a moment, shaking as tears stream down his face. The smell of vomit burns his dripping nostrils. He can’t bring himself to care. He flushes the toilet and blows his nose. He washes his face and brushes his teeth.  _ Your teeth rot away, the stomach acids dissolve the shit around them and then they just like, fucking rot. My dentist took one look at my teeth and told my mom.  _ A voice in his memories supplies him. Wendy, he thinks it was. 

 

He stares at himself in the mirror, his eyes are puffy, his mouth and nose are red and he can see various stains dripping down his shirt. But he feels empty, oh so thankfully  _ empty _ . He feels like shit, but he feels euphoric, like he’d finally done something right. He pinches his belly fat. Taeyong’s key clicks in the front door lock. He flushes the toilet and sprays some Febreze. He takes off his shirt and throws it into the bathroom hamper. Mark smiles in the mirror. It looks fake.

 

Mark is fine. 


	2. bellyache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark next meets Yukhei fainted outside the elevator. Well, Mark doesn’t meet him. Mark’s unconscious body meets him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, pls dont read this if it will trigger you !! also this story will skip around a lot more in the next chapters bc im Physically Incapable of writing a proper linear timeline.

It’s the summer of Mark’s Sophomore year when he meets Wong Yukhei.

 

Mark decides to spend his summer in the city. He doesn’t want to see his family. He doesn’t want to see their judgemental stares when they interrogate him about every single aspect of his new life.  He doesn’t want to have to fake a smile and tell them that college is great, that life couldn’t be better when really it couldn’t be  _ worse _ . 

 

Mark Lee is a good liar, but not good enough to fool himself.

 

So he stays in his and Taeyong’s shared apartment for the summer, working two jobs to pay off his end of the rent. Donghyuck is still in Paris, they videochat every week. Donghyuck is glowing, his smile is even bigger than it was before and he always has new, amazing stories to tell Mark. 

 

Mark is a burden.

 

He can’t help but notice how now that he’s out of Donghyuck’s life, the younger seems to be thriving. He can’t help but notice how Donghyuk is always talking about his new best friend Jaemin or how their video calls are getting shorter and shorter. He can’t stop the gnawing in his gut, the feeling that  _ he’s _ the reason Donghyuck hadn’t thrived this much before. That he had been holding Donghyuck back.

 

Mark no longer ignores the bile that rises in his throat after Donghyuck hangs up. He goes to the bathroom and lets the non-existent contents of his stomach empty themselves into the white bowl until there’s nothing left but his tears making sharp drips in the water. He’s reminded of Wendy.

 

_ So there’s this thing that happens when you purge, right? Your stomach lining gets all fucked up because you keep puking up all the good stuff with the bad shit. One girl I knew ruptured her stomach when she purged and all the acid went out into her body. She’s dead now. It sucks. _

 

Mark and Wendy had become fast friends during their treatment. Wendy had told him this sitting in his bathroom, cleaning up the remnants of her dinner from the floor. Mark hadn’t tried to stop her. He doesn’t stop her because some morbid part of him wants to know what it’s like. Something about it is oddly hypnotic.

 

_ I used to worry about that shit when I purged, you know? I used to be like ‘Oh, but what if that happens to me? That probably hurts like a bitch’ but now I don’t care. I don’t care about my stomach. I don’t care about my liver, my throat, my teeth or whatever, I don’t give a fuck. It’s not even about being skinny anymore. It’s just because I have to. This shit isn’t my disorder, it’s my life. Get your shit together Mark, you have a better chance than all of us.  _

 

Wendy is dead. It sucks. 

 

It’s lying under the vent in the bathroom, surrounded by his own vomit, where Mark smells the acrid scent of marijuana floating through his apartment vents. 

 

Mark is still alone. The summer heat sears through the shitty windows and Mark can already tell that his bathroom will reek if he doesn’t clean up soon. He can barely be bothered to flush the toilet. When he finally stands up, he wipes the seat and rim clean before brushing his teeth. Brush, spit, rinse. Gargle, spit, wipe. Smile. Fake.

 

Mark can still smell the scent of weed coming through his vents like a fog. He wouldn’t normally mind, but his nose is already burning from his purge and he can barely stand the scent. Mark has never liked the smell of weed.

 

He knocks on his neighbor’s door, and he hears a faint  _ Shit! _ and a crash. He rolls his eyes. Before he knows it, a giant with a dopey grin has opened the door, leaning onto the frame with a blunt in his hand.

 

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

 

Giant breaks the silence first, his grin sliding as he takes another hit from his blunt, puffing the smoke into Mark’s face. 

 

“Could you not?” Mark is annoyed. Mark is  _ royally  _ annoyed. His nose burns, his throat is scratchy and his voice sounds like hell. The taste of bile lingers in the back of his mouth. He wants to go back into his apartment and sleep.

 

“Sorry about that,” Giant says, his grin not faltering as he takes another hit, this time exhaling the smoke to his right.

 

“I meant-” Mark is already tired of this guy. “I meant this entire thing.” He gestures to Giant’s blunt. Giant’s grin grows.

 

“I have to deal with your puke smell dude, this is only fair.”

 

Mark freezes. 

 

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

 

“Listen, dude, I don’t care if you have some sort of condition. Whatever. Maybe that’s your kink bro, I don’t give a shit,” Giant throws his head back to laugh. Mark’s eye twitches. His cold palms begin to sweat. “I just want to smoke my weed and live where I’m not being robbed every two seconds. You just want to do whatever the fuck you do. We stay out of each others' ways, and we’re fine.”

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mark repeats, backing away from Yukhei. 

 

“Look, man, calm down. I don’t care. Just let me smoke my weed and we can live in peace, deal?”

 

“Deal.”

 

“Bye, Stomach Boy.”

 

_ Nothing feels better to me than when I’m fasting. I feel light and amazing, it’s like I’m floating. Sometimes I feel like I can feel my fat burning, it’s amazing. I feel even better when I’m almost fainting, I feel like I’m doing something right for once. I love it, it’s addicting. I feel so empty, so good. My hands get so cold and they feel so amazing, it's like I need them to be like that to be okay.  _

 

_ Thank you for sharing with the group, Sungjong.  _

 

Mark next meets Yukhei when he is passed out inside the elevator. Well, Mark doesn’t meet him. Mark’s unconscious body meets him. Yukhei says hello to Sleeping Mark, and picks him up and brings him to his apartment. Sleeping Mark is much less bitchy and uptight than Mark.

 

Yukhei ignores that Sleeping Mark feels lighter than the usual person should in his arms.

 

Mark wakes up in an apartment that isn’t his. He remembers fainting outside of the elevator. 96 hours of fasting. 83 hours in. 

 

He sees Giant in the chair next to him. He sighs.

 

“Aren’t you going to ask me what happened?”

 

“No.”

 

Mark is shocked by his answer. He expected a barrage of questions, a threat of a call to the hospital or Taeyong (Not that Giant has Taeyong’s number anyway). It’s refreshing, not having to explain himself. He wants to explain himself, to spill his guts, but it’s nice. It’s nice to have someone who doesn’t ask questions. 

 

“Do you want me to ask?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then I won’t.”

 

Sungjong is in recovery. Last Mark saw, he has a girlfriend and is attending an art school across the country. Sungjong is in recovery. It sucks. 

 

Mark is still laying on Giant’s couch an hour later. Neither have anywhere to be, and Mark has no energy. He offered him a protein bar. He declined. He offered him a Diet Coke. He accepted.

 

Mark is sitting up now, Giant next to him as some action movie plays on the old school TV in front of them. Mark has long become used to the smell of his weed. His lungs are probably just as damaged as Mark’s stomach. The thought is comforting. 

 

“Want a hit?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Mark has only smoked weed twice before. Both times at parties. He’s afraid it will make him hungry. Mark is past that fear. It’s not like Giant has real food for him to eat anyways. He remembers how Ten taught him to smoke through the glaring lights of someone’s apartment DJ setup. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Cough if you need to.

 

Mark coughs more than he cares to admit. 

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“Mark.”

 

“Nice.” 

 

“Yours?”

 

“Yukhei.”

 

“Cool.”

 

“At least I don’t have to call you Stomach Boy anymore.”

 

“I never asked you to.”

 

“Touche.”

 

“...”

 

“What’s in your stomach?”

 

“What do you think?”

 

“Dead roses and blue pen ink.”

 

Yukhei is evicted two weeks later. 


	3. i don't want to be you anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark meets Lee Donghyuck in his freshman year of high school. They’re paired together for a project. Donghyuck is excited to be with the star of the class. Mark just wants a passing grade. Donghyuck pokes and prods at Mark at every chance, and Mark replies with his own playful jabs and remarks. They’re all smiles.

Mark’s parents aren’t home.

 

In fact, Mark’s parents are never home. Mark had only been released from the hospital under the condition that he would be closely monitored after every meal and his parents would watch after his nutrition. They had smiled and nodded. Mark had agreed.

 

They left him alone. 

 

Mark loves being alone as much as he hates it. He hates being in his own head. Hates being trapped in his mind. But there’s some masochistic part of him nestled in some deep dark corner of his mind that likes the feeling, that loves the darkness that covers him like a blanket. He doesn’t know when he started to not know where he ended and the disorder began.

 

He’s laying on his bed face up as the dull symphony of rain hits the roof above his head. He’s dimly aware of a branch scratching at his window every now and then. He’s covered by a blanket, but his hands still feel like blocks of ice against his skin. Mark loves it. 

 

_ I mean, I don’t feel like I’m valid unless I’m suffering? If that makes any sense at all? Like, unless my hands are freezing I feel guilty because I’ve eaten too much. I feel like unless I have blue nails and vision going black at the edges I’ve done something wrong. It sucks because I know it isn’t healthy, but I just can’t stop it. It’s like I need to be half dead to feel okay.  _

 

_ Thank you for sharing with the group, Mark.  _

 

Mark’s parents are yelling. His dietician told them he lost more weight. He could be sent back. He sighs, promises to eat more. He eats. He hates it. His throat feels tight and his stomach constricts in on itself. 

 

Mark is tired. 

 

Mark meets Lee Donghyuck in his freshman year of high school. They’re paired together for a project. Donghyuck is excited to be with the star of the class. Mark just wants a passing grade. Donghyuck pokes and prods at Mark at every chance, and Mark replies with his own playful jabs and remarks. They’re all smiles.

 

There are no sparks, there’s no big build up to a sweet romance in the autumn breeze. There’s no urge for Mark to kiss Donghyuck, and no lingering touches or starry eyes. Mark feels nothing for the younger. They’re friends. Classmates. 

 

Mark sees Donghyuck in the halls between his classes and always shoots him a wave and a smile before he’s whisked away by the crowd or another teacher. They’re acquaintances. When Taeyong, his best friend and a senior, gives Mark his position as school treasurer, Mark sees less of Donghyuck. Their paths don’t cross for a while. 

 

Mark is exhausted.

 

_ Well, I started dating this guy. He treated me like shit, he threw me around and called me fat and shit even though he knew I had a disorder. He was bad news, but he’d also kiss me and call me beautiful. He’d shower me in every gift imaginable, and I just wanted to feel loved so much that I let him. I hated myself so much it was almost a relief when he hurt me because then I didn’t have to do it to myself. I just wanted someone who would let me starve and still love me. I think people who care hurt more than people who don’t.  _

 

_ And why do you think that, Sooyoung? _

 

_ I mean, I think it’s because when people care you know that  _ **_you’re_ ** _ the one who’s hurting them. When people don’t care it’s easier because you can keep doing what you’re doing without guilt. It’s harder to live with a disorder where you’re the one physically destroying yourself.  _

 

_ I see. Thank you for sharing with the group.  _

 

Mark is on Yukhei’s couch. His apartment had felt too cold and empty after Taeyong left. There’s still rain dripping onto the kitchen tile from where his jacket is hanging on one of Yukhei’s foldable chairs. 

 

There’s a blunt hanging off Mark’s fingertips. The warmth from the smoke is the closest thing he has to body heat. Mark’s legs are sprawled across Yukhei’s lap. Yukhei’s hand rubs against Mark’s calf in slow circles. Fire and ice. Fat and bone. 

 

Yukhei doesn’t ask why Mark feels like a doll in his hands.

 

Mark’s phone has been buzzing for the past hour. He can’t be bothered to pick it up. It’s somewhere with his sweater. Mark hopes it dies soon. Yukhei’s hand grabs Mark’s ankle and pulls him onto his lap, his large hands corralling Mark into his lap with ease. He slots their lips together. 

 

Mark’s blunt is forgotten on the floor. 

 

Yukhei is addicting, his kiss tastes like stale candy and bad decisions and Mark can’t get enough. His head is empty. Nothing exists except for Yukhei. When Yukhei’s hands dip under his shirt he doesn't shy away, doesn’t try to hide his frame. Yukhei won’t ask questions. Yukhei won’t try and fix him. 

 

That night Mark drowns himself in the smell of artificial love and smoke.

 

_ hyuckie  _ _ ♡ 19:03 _

_ mark? _

 

_ hyuckie  _ _ ♡ 19:04 _

_ mark taeyong told me what’s been happening. _

 

_ hyuckie  _ _ ♡ 19:06 _

_ mark please text me back _

 

_ hyuckie  _ _ ♡ 19:06 _

_ mark im scared please _

 

_ hyuckie  _ _ ♡ 19:07 _

_ we agreed it would be us against this thing, please text me back _

 

_ hyuckie  _ _ ♡ 19:09 _

_ mark please im really fucking scared  _

 

**_hyuckie_ ** **_♡ missed call (4)_ **

 

**_hyuckie_ ** **_♡ voicemail (4)_ **

 

_ ty 19:19 _

_ Mark, this isn’t fucking funny. _

 

_ ty 19:20 _

_ Text your fucking boyfriend back. _

 

_ ty 19:21 _

_ He’s in another country and scared about you. Text him the fuck back. _

 

_ ty 19:22 _

_ I know you’re at Yukhei’s. _

 

_ ty 19:23 _

_ I didn’t tell Hyuck about him. I don’t know what’s going on between you two but if you’re cheating on Hyuck, he has a right to know.  _

 

_ ty 19:29 _

_ Lee Minhyung, I will track your phone and drag you back to this apartment. _

 

**_iPhone has run out of battery. Please connect to charger._ **

 

Mark is in Donghyuck’s bed. It’s after class and they’re giggling and sharing soft kisses while watching the latest Marvel movie on Donghyuck’s laptop. Donghyuck had pried Mark out of his calculus class to take a break from everything. Mark thinks he’s brighter than any star in the sky.

 

Mark is happy. 


	4. i can't fucking breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait. the holidays took a lot out of me and so has school. i also had surgery so that was fun lol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been seeing a lot of comments on this fic about how it's helping people cope and how it's really real for them and i just- idk how to really resond ? i'm so glad i've been able to help people with my weird little vent but please, PLEASE, if this is going to trigger you do not read it. stay safe.

Mark doesn’t remember when he got there, doesn’t remember walking into the cold alley wrapping around him. Doesn’t remember slinking out Yukhei’s fire escape in the middle of the night. He does remember seeing Taeyong’s text about Yukhei, about coming over.

Mark had run. 

Not physically, he knows he can’t run. Not without black dots closing in like growing ink blots. He just thinks that maybe,  _ maybe  _ if he doesn’t see Taeyong he won’t have to deal with things. He can’t be bothered to care about the ankles of his sweatpants dragging in the small puddles of water as he walks to the back service road. 

The drips of water off the overflowing gutters shattering on the ground greet him. 

His phone lies like dead weight in his pocket. He almost misses the buzzing. Almost misses the physical reminder that someone cares about him.

 

_ “I just don’t get why the fuck you care! It’s not like I’m your problem, you can leave at any time!” _

_ “I care about you because we’re fucking friends, Mark! Stop acting like an ass and pushing us all away, why can’t you let us help?” _

_ “It’s not that simple.” _

_ “Then tell me why it’s so complicated. I want to help even if it is.” _

_ “I can’t.” _

_ “You can’t, or you won’t?” _

_ “I fucking can’t!” _

 

Mark is sitting in his bathroom, legs shaking as he leans over the toilet. 

Mark is fucking fat.

He knew the holidays would be hell. He knew without school and his hectic schedule he would gain. He had tried,  _ god  _ he had tried as hard as he could to enjoy his meals with his family. He could forget. Sometimes. He could forget the calories and the fats and the awful  _ awful  _ feeling of blubber growing on his bones. 

 

But the holidays are over, and Mark is  _ fat _ . 

 

His hands are warm, his nails have color to them. His ribs slowly disappeared under a sheet of flesh. 

_ “Markie, you look great! A little rest and some good food goes a long way, huh?” _

Mark shouldn’t have taken Jaehyun’s comment like that. Shouldn’t have felt like a knife was slotted right between his ribs. He knows his friend is just trying to compliment him. Just trying to bring him up. 

So Mark smiled. He smiled with his lips stretching across his rotting teeth like old leather and thanked Jaehyun, slapping his arm. 

Now he’s sitting over his toilet, sobs shaking his body as he heaves and heaves into the bowl. He’s choking, gasping between sobs because vomit is filling his nose and god  _ Mark can’t fucking breathe _ . 

He can faintly hear his mother washing the dishes downstairs. Something nags him to quiet down, but he  _ can’t breathe _ . He hangs over the toilet, limp like a doll. Heaves more and more before he forces himself to take a deep breath. Forces himself to quiet his sobs and wipe his nose. 

Wipe. Blow. Stand. Swish. Gargle. Spit. Flush.  

His lips are coated in a gloss of saliva and vomit. His hair is sticking up like he took some sort of twisted nap. There are tear tracks on his face. All he sees is the fat on the cheeks they mar. 

Mark smiles.

 

_ “I started it because I felt- I felt like I needed to be the best. Because everyone around me was so perfect and I’m just me. It sounds stupid and cliche, trust me I know. But I thought that if maybe I could just be different somehow I could be better, I could meet everyone's’ expectations. It just started with a few pounds and then- well you know the rest.” _

_ “Thank you for sharing with the group, Mark.” _

 

Donghyuk is biting his nails. Enamel ripping into flesh as he stares at his phone. He replays his call with Taeyong inside his head over and over, remembers all the times he saw Mark getting thinner and thinner and chalked it up to college stress. 

All of his texts are unread. His calls are unanswered. He’s dimly aware of Jaemin rubbing his back. 

He glares at his phone. His phone glares back.

 

**“Hey, this is Mark! I can’t come to the phone right now, please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”**

 

_ Mark- Mark Taeyong told me what’s been going on, please pick up. I’m really worried and you aren’t answering your texts just- god please Mark. I love you, I love you so much please just pick up your phone. Please.  _

_ Mark you still aren’t answering, please. I just need to know that you’re okay, please don’t do this to me. We agreed that it would be us against this, right? Come on, please. I-I-I just need to know you’re safe. We don’t even have to talk about it, okay? Just tell me you’re okay and I’ll leave it alone for tonight, Mark, please.  _

_ Please- Mark please pick up your phone I-I don’t know what to do god I don’t know what to do I’m so worried god please- please pick up I need to hear you and know you’re okay baby please. Please pick up I need you so bad right now- Oh god I’m so stupid. _

_ Mark, Mark please I’m s-so worried please pick up baby. Please I’m begging you I don’t- I don’t know what to do or-or where you are or who you’re with. I just- I need to know you’re okay baby. Please god tell me you’re okay- god let me know you’re alright I’m so sorry please just call me back I- _

 

The metal of the bus stop seat stings Mark’s freezing hands. He doesn’t know how long he’s been there. He just knows his legs felt like jelly, that his vision had begun to fade and his shoulders felt like lead. He knows sometime a bus will pull up tomorrow. 

He knows the growl in his stomach and the feeling of emptiness that comes with it. He knows cold. He knows dark vision and panting up stairs. He knows the heavy weight on his eyelids on his fourth day of fasting. 

He knows himself. 


	5. sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yukhei slides open the door, and the familiar smell of marijuana and cologne greets Mark as he looks up at the boy. Yukhei doesn’t speak, just lets Mark into his apartment without a word. His sloped grin sears its way into Mark's mind. Mark slides onto the couch, and Yukhei passes him a freshly lit blunt. Mark already knows that it’s the kind that won’t make him hungry. Yukhei is considerate like that. They sit in silence, smoke passing from their lips. Tongues passing between mouths. Needs passing between bodies. Neither of them speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i was dead for a while. as you can tell my mental health isn't... exactly the best. i'll try to update this when i can, but don't worry, i'm alive and kicking.
> 
> also sorry for anyone who has read the prequel to this fic, i put it in this chapter so things would make more sense.

School has become a chore for Mark.

Exhaustion has seeped its way into his very bones, laying like a grey film over his entire body. Everything has become routine, he’s going through the motions with no love or energy behind them and he can tell his friends are beginning to notice. He’s a marionette being held up by strings and wood. 

Jeno had been the first to notice, commenting on how Mark seemed more tired than usual. Jungwoo and Taeyong had laughed and told Jeno that all upperclassmen were tired. Mark blames it on the student council meetings that had began to run later and later into the night. Jeno laughs and smiles at him. Mark can’t pinpoint why he feels a pit in his stomach and tightness in his chest.

That night Mark skips the after meeting dinner, says he’s having dinner at home. Tells his parents he had dinner at the meeting. Smiles. Fake. 

He spends the night bent over his books, numbers swimming in and out of focus as he tries his best to remember the equations he needs. He knows his writing is slanting, knows his answers aren’t as clean cut and his work isn’t as neat and organized as it once was. But he doesn’t care, he doesn’t  _ care  _ that he’s running himself into the ground slowly because god, he needs to be perfect. 

Mark needs to be perfect.  _ Needs  _ it. 

He feels it in his bones, the need, the drive to be something  _ more _ . He feels all the eyes on him, the school golden boy. Mark Lee, the boy who does soccer, basketball, and student government all while balancing a full academic workload. He sees the awed stares from his peers, his friends’ disbelieving tones when he tells them about the hours he spent on homework. He sees the pride in his teachers’ eyes, the happiness on his coaches’ faces when he masters a new skill. 

But Mark is a fake.

He feels fake under the weight of their gazes, an expensive counterfeit of the Mark Lee they all know. He tries his best to maintain appearances, stays up for hours and hours to finish all his work and fakes understanding on topics during lessons. He pretends it’s all easy, says it just takes hard work.

It’s when he comes home that the mask falls off.

It’s when no one is watching, when it’s no one but Mark and his own thoughts that his mask falls away. When he spends hours crying over his textbooks because _ he just doesn’t fucking get it  _ and tears at his hair, staring at the same three words in an essay. When he does nothing but lay in his bed, numb to the world. When he does nothing but cry to himself in the mirror because he doesn’t feel  _ enough _ .They don’t see the Mark Lee he is when he’s alone. They see the fake. The false copy. The Mark that’s been carefully constructed with smoke and mirrors and sickly sweet praise oozing out of every artificial crevice. 

Every night he begs, pleads to be the Mark he shows to the world. 

He doesn’t know who he’s asking.

  
  


Jisung is the next to notice, cornering Mark when he’s over at the younger’s house. Toys are scattered on the floor from yesterday still, fluorescent colors blurring in Mark’s vision as the kindergartener pushes a handful his of cereal in Mark’s face, his tiny voice squeaking  _ “Hyungie doesn’t eat ever! He’s always studying or playing! Mommy says you need to eat to play!”  _

Jisung is seated on Mark’s lap, squirming backwards as he waves a handful of Cheerios in Mark’s face. 50 calories in the handful. Mark opens his palm. Makes a show of eating a few for the child. Gives him a high five. Jisung’s mother comes home and pays him.

 

He’s never run home faster in his life. 

* * *

 

Mark is cold.

His hands rest in his pockets as he walks across campus, bony and icy through the fabric of his wool jacket. The sky rumbles above, all greys on pale blues and the damp pre-rain air. His breath puffs out in front of him, and he momentarily wonders if he could disappear with it. He’s been walking for hours. Walking, walking, walking. Right foot, left foot, right foot left foot. Breath in, breath out. His name.  
Mark feels his vision go black for a moment as he turns. Jungwoo is walking towards him, a hand searching in his coat pocket and a smile that could warm Mark’s cold hands. Mark smiles, accepting the energy Jungwoo offers him while pretending to listen to what the other is saying. He can barely hear. Napalms of rain cascade down from the skies, and Jungwoo squeals and runs into his dorm, waving at Mark before disappearing.

Mark is wet.

Now his hair is soaked, his hands feel like cold stones in his pockets. He doesn’t know where he’s walking anymore. His phone had told him long ago that he had reached ten thousand steps, but he can’t help but feel like he needs more, to walk for longer.  
He finds himself outside of Yukhei’s apartment, half a mile from the edge of campus. His stomach growls. He ignores it. He also ignores the throbbing in his feet and the broken elevator, hauling himself up the stairs to Yukhei’s apartment. He ignores the dripping sound that follows him, the dull concussion of water drops falling from his coat onto the carpet. He knocks.

  
Yukhei slides open the door, and the familiar smell of marijuana and cologne greets Mark as he looks up at the boy. Yukhei doesn’t speak, just lets Mark into his apartment without a word. His sloped grin sears its way into Mark's mind. Mark slides onto the couch, and Yukhei passes him a freshly lit blunt. Mark already knows that it’s the kind that won’t make him hungry. Yukhei is considerate like that. They sit in silence, smoke passing from their lips. Tongues passing between mouths. Needs passing between bodies. Neither of them speak.

  
Yukhei doesn’t ask why Mark’s hips feel sharper than usual. He doesn’t ask why Mark only wants to drink water or diet soda after they’re dressed. Doesn't ask why after all these hours, Mark doesn't eat.  Yukhei doesn’t ask questions. Mark likes it like that.  
Jungwoo’s energy bar lies in Yukhei’s trash bin, untouched.

  
When Mark returns to his own dorm, Taeyong is sitting on the couch. He barely registers in his mind.

  
“Where were you?”

 

“Out.”

 

“With Yukhei?”

  
“Yes.”

  
“ _Mark_.”

  
“You’re not my fucking mom.”

  
“Then stop acting like you need one.”

  
“Can you just fuck  _off_?” Mark hisses, wet hair still dripping down his face.

  
“No, Mark, I can’t,” Taeyong says. His voice is level, it always is. “I won’t sit by and watch you destroy your body again. Yukhei isn’t good for you and you know that.”

  
“If you don’t want to watch it, you can fucking leave,” Mark spits. The ice in his hands mixes with his boiling blood. He feels something move in his stomach. Mark doesn’t want to hurt Taeyong, and he knows his words are venom. He knows. But he doesn’t want to eat, he can’t. He can't look Taeyong in the eyes. He looks at his hands. Bony and fat. Cold and burning. Heavy and light. 

  
Taeyong stands, and Mark knows he’s gone too far. “I’ll be at Ten’s.”

Mark is alone.

Mark is alone when he steps into his bathroom, mirror long neglected. He showers in scalding hot water, praying it will thaw his bones. He’s alone when he steps out of the shower. He’s alone when he walks into his room. He’s alone when he pulls in his sweatpants, the drawstrings pulled as tight as he can get them.  
Mark is alone when he gets a text from a thousand miles away.

_**Hyuk ♡ 18:33**  _  
_**I hope you had a good day!** _

_**Did you eat anything?** _

_**Me 18:34** _

_**Yeah :)** _

_**[File attached]** _

_**Hyuk ♡ 18:36**  _  
_**That’s my boy :*** _

Mark sends an old snapchat he took of him eating noodles before  _everything_ happened. A pit forms in his stomach, but it’s outweighed by the emptiness next to it.

Mark is alone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He holds one of Yukhei’s blunts in his hand, the scent filling his nostrils. He’s alive. The realization hits him like a truck, he’s alive. It’s acute, a crashing wave of cold terror over him. It fills his lungs, spilling in through his lips and making him choke. He feels his chest become heavy, feels himself bloat and the water saturate his entire body. Mark isn’t sure when he started breathing water instead of air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not dead yet ! i've been going through it tbh so that's why ive been awol, sorry. everything is falling apart but i mean. we been knew.
> 
> psa that this chapter does contain a brief passage describing self harm. i've [bracketed] the passage so you know where it starts and ends, please don't read it if it will trigger you. i've made it so it's not essential to the plot to read, and you can not read it and still understand everything going on. 
> 
> i hope you're all okay and safe.

Everything is so much.

Mark knows weight loss isn’t linear, logically he does. But logic isn’t what matters now, not when his brain is flooded with only thoughts of being smaller, thinner, perfect.

Logic has no place in his brain.

Logic tells Mark that Yukhei is bad news, logic tells Mark he’s ruining his body. Logic tells Mark he can’t keep it up, that being skinny isn’t worth this pain. It’s what tells him he won’t be happy when he’s skinny, it’s what tells him that he’s only making himself miserable. It’s what tells him to recover, it’s what tells him to fall into Taeyong’s arms and tell him about his pain.

_ Fuck logic. _

Mark’s brain, the part that’s reaching out to him in the dark, comforting tendrils that wrap around him and mute his senses until he can barely think says  _ fuck logic _ . 

It’s the part that crawls into his thoughts at night, that wraps itself around him like a heavy blanket. It’s comforting in a sick way because it’s what he knows. He knows how to starve. It’s the part that screams at him as he looks at the scale, as he sees the higher number wink back at him. A taunt. He’s an entire kilo heavier than at his morning weigh-in, and all he can feel is crippling sadness, a crumbling anxiety that builds in his chest as the reading on the scale goes dark. 

He steps off the scale. Breathes in, out, in, out. Slides down the wall of the bathroom, his head in his hands. This isn’t what was supposed to happen.

He goes through everything that could have caused this, his carbohydrate and sodium intake, what he drank, his calories for the past week, everything. He’s in deficit, he  _ should lose _ . Logic probes back into his brain, tells him that weight can fluctuate for no reason that home scales are rarely one hundred percent reliable. Tells him he didn’t gain the kilo.

Logic doesn’t have a place in Mark’s brain.

All he can think about is how he’s getting fat again, about how he failed. He failed. He  _ failed _ . Mark failed. _ Fucking failure. _

And there’s no one to comfort him, no one to cry to about what he feels. He’d long abandoned hope of leaning on Yukhei, the unspoken agreement of ‘ask no questions get no lies’ his one comfort. None of his friends are an option, they’d make him go to treatment and  _ god  _ Mark can’t handle that. His parents would make him go home, he can’t handle that, he can’t. 

Mark cries, truly alone.

 

* * *

Yukhei is laying next to him, and Mark watches the rise and fall of his chest like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. In a sense, it is. Mark had stopped feeling alive long ago. He goes through the motions, lives like a normal person. Conceals how hollow he really feels. 

He holds one of Yukhei’s blunts in his hand, the scent filling his nostrils. He’s alive. The realization hits him like a truck, he’s  _ alive _ . It’s acute, a crashing wave of cold terror over him. It fills his lungs, spilling in through his lips and making him choke. He feels his chest become heavy, feels himself bloat and the water saturate his entire body. Mark isn’t sure when he started breathing water instead of air. 

He isn’t sure where he’s going, not as he pulls on his clothes that feel _ too real  _ on his skin. Not sure where he’s going as he climbs down the fire escape into the street. The cold pricks his skin. The lights burn his eyes. The noises feel like grating pain behind his eyes, worming their way through his ears and into his brain. 

He isn’t sure what he’s doing when he stumbles into the apartment, falling in his bed after locking the door behind him. He isn’t sure what Taeyong and Ten are yelling behind him. He doesn’t want to know. [ He knows what he’s looking for as he throws open his bathroom cabinet, know what he’s doing as he takes out a small sliver of metal from a formerly innocuous box. He knows what he’s doing as he sits down on the floor. He knows. He knows how to feel okay again, how to make everything go back to being mute.

He doesn't know how long it's been since he last did this. He doesn't care.

He takes his wrist in his hand, staring at it for a beat. He sees the gentle lines of white that still crosses it like stitches on a canvas. He’s hypnotized. The initial bite is harsh, he almost wants to pull away. He doesn’t. He closes his eyes and lets himself feel. It feels awful, but it feels good. The endorphin rush mutes everything else. The bite turns to a burn, turns to a gentle bloom of pain against his wrist. 

Mark feels okay.

He’s okay.]

 

* * *

 

Jisung is tugging on his sleeve, begging him to play  _ “Just for a few minutes hyungie? Please?”  _ Mark is all too happy to agree, looking down at the round-cheeked child while slowly rising from the table. 

Mark is running on empty.

Mark hasn’t eaten in almost a week. It’s day five. He puts on his best smile for Jisung, ignoring the exhaustion in his bones and the way his legs wobble when he steps. 

_ “Airplane Hyungie, airplane!” _ He registers Jisung saying, distantly. 

‘Not today Jitterbug, Hyungie’s tired,” He replies, instead handing Jisung his favorite ball. It was one of the balls that went inside out when thrown. Mark still remembers how Jisung had screamed when he had given it to the boy on his fourth birthday. “How about we play catch instead? Your mom has been telling me you’ve been practicing with baseball a lot.”

Jisung lights up like a Christmas tree, running and taking the ball from Mark’s hands before the elder can get another word in. His toothy grin says it all.

Mark is tired, even running a few feet after the ball takes a toll on his body. He smiles, laughs. Does it for Jisung. Puts on his mask.

The last thing Mark registers is a scream when he plummets to the floor. 

 

_ “I don’t want to recover for myself, I want to recover for all my friends. I want to recover for my family, for- for my sisters. I want them to have someone to be proud of. I want my parents to have a daughter they can be proud of, not a sack of bones that can barely even eat like a normal human. I don’t want them to worry or to hurt. It’s like Sunny says, it’s harder when people care. And I- I wish they didn’t care sometimes? I wish they didn’t care about me so they wouldn’t hurt  **because** of me. But I can’t just make them not care about me and it- it fucking sucks.” _

_ “Do you think you deserve to recover?” _

_ “I don’t know, I don’t know anything anymore.” _

_ “Thank you for sharing with the group, Jimin.” _

**Author's Note:**

> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/qiankgs)
> 
> my [cc](https://curiouscat.me/qiankgs)


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